


Wishes

by Missy



Category: Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Crossover, Demonslaying, Family Drama, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah is a smart cookie.  But so is her Uncle Ash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Meanie-Face. Prompt filled: Ladies Bingo: Fusion with another fandom.

In case you haven’t noticed by now, Sarah Williams is a smart cookie.

Most of her family knows it too, though they can’t pin down why or how she got so nervy. Her mother notices and remarks upon it almost immediately - she’s lost a bit of her dreaminess over the course of her evening’s babysitting assignment, gained a sense of resolve that’s sent her bravely out among her peers more often. She seems less satisfied with her fantasy world, the more time she spends among her family and friends, the better in her father’s opinion. Soon it seems such a natural development that the family doesn’t even bother to complain about her new quirk – a general loathing of owls.

This little fact gets lost in the shuffle when her father announces that her Uncle Ashley is coming to town for a visit.

It’s been years since Sarah’s seen the guy; at Tobey’s christening, where he had been named the child’s godfather. She vaguely remembers a tall guy with a pointy nose and large brown eyes cringing as his carefully sculpted hair was splashed by holy water, but not much else, mostly because her father’s side of the family’s been quietly ignored for years now. It was as if the taint of their blue-collar bad luck would destroy the white collar life Sarah’s father has built with her mother; they tried not to speak to him, even on holidays, but Uncle Ash still has way of barging back into their lives at the most inopportune moments. 

Then one day, Sarah’s parents decide to leave her alone with Toby for a full week. They tell her they're headed to Michigan to attend her Aunt Cheryl’s funeral, and while she offered to come along, her parents insist that Sarah’s too sensitive to understand the nature of her aunt’s passing. That only fills Sarah’s imagination with morbid thoughts that haunt that imagination, but even those fade under the daily reality of raising Toby on her lonesome. 

That’s when, in the middle of the airless summer afternoon two days later, a yellow Oldsmobile rolls up to the house.

She’s outside with Toby, teaching him how to play tic-tac-toe, when she pulls the baby close to her chest and stares down the stranger with haughty fearlessness. 

“Hey.” A scarred face peers up through the driver’s side window, dark eyes judging her mettle with silent, grim appraisal. 

Now she recognizes him, the direct gaze searching her form the same one peering out of family portraits. The metallic hand is a new touch, but she’s polite enough to avoid staring.

“Uncle Ash?”

*** 

“I couldn’t face it,” he says, while she pours Toby his bottle and he sits in the kitchen, drinking her father’s last beer. “All of those people judging me. They have no right to look down their noses and say I did things I didn’t do.” He glares at Sarah. “Don’t ever let ‘em tell you I did that to her, y’hear me?”

Sarah – who knows nothing about the circumstances of her aunt’s death, nor why her Uncle’s reaction is so intense - manages a wordless nod. “All right. Maybe you’ll feel better if you drink tea instead of....”

Ash glowers at it and hunches closer to the beer and table. “Thanks. You’re a nice kid.” He rubs his temples and looks up to stare at Toby. His look is far away, and Sarah knows that whatever he's thinking of, it isn't her baby brother. “God, I wish…”

Then Sarah sees what Ash can’t; the smiling visage of the Goblin King, gleaming in the mirrored surface of the kitchen cabinets behind his head. Sarah’s eyes widen in pure fear. “NO!”

“…Just wish I could show ‘em all what it was like back there. Then they'd back off.”

**

The labyrinth is darker than Sarah remembers it being. For one, it doesn’t normally immediately open into Jareth’s palace.

“What in the hell is goin’ on?” Ash muttered under his breath. 

“Shh!” she hisses, dragging him forward. “You! Why did you bring us here?”

Jareth glared down his nose at her, perched icily upon his throne. “What makes you think I need help from the likes of you?”

Something white eyed, with fuzzy, mottled grey fur peeped up by his elbow. Dripping foam from its gory muzzle, he bellows in an otherworldly voice, “I’ll swallow your…”

BAM! Sarah clutches Toby to her chest and whirls toward her Uncle, who hasn’t spoken a word since he locked eyes with Jareth. He cocked his head, the sawed off he’d strapped to his leg sliding back into place, still smoking.

Jareth cocks an eyebrow at Ash’s ingenuity. “…Perhaps I do need your help.”

Sarah clutches Toby tighter to her chest as Uncle Ash kicks away the rotting corpse of the creature - and while she's so distracted, her Uncle Ash pushes her behind his body. “How long’s this been going on?” he asks.

“Long enough. I find it terribly boring.”

“All right. I can help you with your little ‘problem’,” Ash says. “And so can Sarah…”

“But!” Sarah cries. “I don’t know how to kill those things Uncle Ash!”

He turns about, takes her shoulders between his hands and says, “kid, you don’t have much of a choice.”

Sarah swallows hard, looking from Ash’s hopeful face to Jareth’s sneer. Her blood turns to a powerful throb coursing through her body.

“Let’s go,” she says, and reaches for his metal hand.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Evil Dead and Labyrinth** , who are the property of **Henson/Disney and Rosebud Releasing/Universal**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
